Chapter: 3
Apples and Oranges
Dan Mangan rushed to sop up the growing puddle of tea before it could flow across the table. Fortunately, Mrs. Belden had placed a stack of cloth napkins nearby, though he hesitated to use one as a rag.
"Hey! Watch what you're doing!" he exclaimed to get the oblivious girl's attention. "Snap out of it, Trix. Where's your head?"
Trixie glanced up with a start and set down the overfilled glass. "Under my tom-boy baseball cap, I suppose," she replied with a sniff.
Dan could tell by the infliction in his female friend's voice she was both angry and hurt.
Sure, Trixie didn't wear the trendy girlish stuff Di did. Nor the expensive brands which Honey wore. But Trixie had her own style, which suited her nicely. And though he wasn't about to admit it, the assessing young man decided she looked, well, sort of cute.
Trixie's denim bib overalls had been cut into shorts. And underneath them, she was wearing a red and white striped tee. And while Dan was no fashion critic, in his eyes, Mart's old red ball cap only added to the look. Besides, comparing the girls was like comparing apples with oranges.
"Chin up," he said. "Don't pay them any mind. Your Mom and Mrs. Lynch are just gossiping. You girls do it all the time. Besides, Mart looks more like a girl than you do a boy, in that crazy Hawaiian shirt of his."
The teen flipped Trixie a wink, and she giggled. Then, as he finished cleaning the table, he went on, "I think it takes courage to have your own style. Everyone likes something different. Me? I'm a t-shirt kind of guy. You wouldn't catch me in a preppy polo like Frayne or Doc over there."
Trixie grinned, feeling a tad better. "I can't say I could see you in one," she had to admit.
"Although I do think you could pull off Mart's pineapple look," she added teasingly.
Dan wadded the dripping napkin into a ball and threw it at her. "I'll remember that," he said as she caught it and proceeded to squeeze out the liquid into the freshly mowed grass. "You just remember I know about the 'garden club incident.' Don't think I wouldn't enjoy telling a certain boy scout about that!" he threatened her.
Trixie's face turned three shades of red as she hung the napkin over the back of an empty lawn chair to finish drying. "Don't you dare mention it to Jim!" she warned, giving him a forceful shove.
From behind the two teens, a somewhat worried voice said, "Don't mention what to Jim?"
"Oh, it's nothing, really…." Trixie hemmed and hawed as the red-headed young man came up and proceeded to pull a bottle of water out of the ice chest. As he ran the cool drink across his sweaty forehead, Jim posed the question again.
The twinkle in Dan's eye suggested that he was getting ready to reply when Mrs. Belden interrupted, calling for her daughter.
"Trixie, dear, would you and the other girls come lend a hand? Your father tells me that he and Mr. Lynch are getting hungry."
Standing off to Jim's left, Trixie's older brothers admitted that they were ready for something to eat too.
"Gee, now that she needs help, I'm a girl again," the insulted young lady mumbled to Dan.
"Coming, Moms," she yelled back to her mother. "Mart, you're with us," Trixie added, grabbing the girls' drinks.
Only Mart appeared somewhat bewildered, and Dan began to laugh.
"But, I didn't hear my name being mentioned," the boy with the crew cut objected.
"Nor did I," Brian interjected, stopping the pair. "Mart stays here," he told Trixie. "I don't want him within a foot of the buffet table until the rest of us are served. Understand?"
And Trixie did understand. Mart, who'd recently gone through another growth spurt, had an insatiable appetite, which had only intensified, now that he was filling out, rather than just shooting up.
The boy would never be as tall as his older brother. But he was already stockier and more muscular than Brian. The farm work Mart had been doing had built up the boy's physique, which in turn had added to his prowess on the baseball field. In fact, the youth had become an absolute powerhouse behind the bat. And a star of his team. But he was also eating the Belden's out of house and home to fuel his home run drive.
Still, Trixie didn't like it when Brian tried to tell her what to do. He may have been older than she, but he wasn't her father. "Mart's coming with me," she insisted. "Someone needs to slice up that gargantuan watermelon he drug home from Mr. Sanderson's. I've never seen one so big. It's going to take a machete and someone with more beef than you to get through that tough rind," she finished decidedly.
Mart raised his chin and grinned smugly at his slightly snubbed big brother. He wasn't used to his sister stepping over Brian, especially in his favor, and he rather liked it.
"It is a spectacular fruit, is it not?" the middle Belden boasted. "It's size, and as you will soon discover its outstanding succulence, is a direct result of an experimental fertilizer which yours truly has been developing. Mr. Sanderson, I might add, has been quite open to my research and testing in organics and has even suggested we patent the elixir under the name 'Mart's Miraculous Multiplier.'"
Trixie rolled her eyes and dug her fingernails more deeply into the bragging teen's arm. Mart certainly didn't sound like any farmer she'd ever met, but he still bled just as green. Agriculture, despite the boy's multitude of hobbies, was undeniably his calling.
"OK, Old McDonald," she said. "I suggest you quit the moo-moo here, and the moo-moo there, before you step in more of that magic compost of yours. If your head gets any bigger, it's likely to burst. Besides, I need your muscle, not your mouth."
Dragging him off, Trixie went to round up girls, leaving the other boys to enjoy their beverages.
Swinging out of the screen door a short time later, with a platter piled high with mouthwatering chicken sandwiches, Trixie's acute hearing picked up on yet another conversation - this time, one between her father and Mr. Lynch.
The two men had pulled a pair of green Adirondack chairs into the shadows of the farmhouse, not far from the buffet table. As the intrigued girl set down the plate, she busied herself with rearranging the side dishes while she intently listened in.
"Maybe so, Peter, but that's not part of the platform that got Milt elected Mayor," Mr. Lynch said seriously. "If Sleepyside had wanted a Mega-Mart or a Burger Bucket, they would have elected Connie Bloomberg."
Mr. Belden begged to differ. "I don't know, Phil. Times are changing. And from what I read, there's a whole new generation out there that's anxious to embrace that change. Why just last week, in the Sun's Editorial page…."
Mr. Lynch scoffed and cut Trixie's father off. "That rag?" he said. "You can't believe a word they print. Besides, they blatantly threw their support behind Connie in the last election. Surely I don't have to remind you of that, Peter."
Mr. Belden let out a low baritone laugh. "I suppose not," he admitted. "But you know Phil, we're beginning to sound like our parents. I can still recall how livid my father was when they opened the Starlight Drive-In out on Mulberry Lane. He was sure it would put the Cameo out of business and destroy the moral integrity of our town. But you and I couldn't wait for it to open, now could we? And Sleepyside? Well, it survived, as did the Cameo."
Sighing, Mr. Lynch rested his head back on his wooden chair. "But sadly, the Starlight is now little more than a grassy lot and a sweet memory," he finished for his friend. "Still Peter, Burger Bucket could very easily shut Whimpey's down. And I don't understand how Milt could do that to Mike. Why they were best friends in high school."
Trixie was shocked. She hadn't heard the news about Burger Bucket. She'd eaten at one of the chain restaurants on a Bob-White trip. And while her sandwich had been tasty and affordable, it didn't compare to one of Mike's thick hamburgers. Of course, Mom's juicy patties were still the best around, but Mike's ran a close second. Besides, Whimpey's was more than just a burger joint. The diner had long been a local meet-and-greet for folks of all ages. And Mike was one of the B.W.G.'s good friends.
Mr. Belden scratched his chin, and Trixie recognized her father's body language. Daddy couldn't believe Mayor Murdock would do such a thing to Mike either. Only he didn't tell Mr. Lynch that. But it wasn't like Mr. Lynch had given him a chance.
Continuing his rant, the middle-aged man went on, "I ran into Frances Sanderson at the barbershop this morning, too, Pete. And do you know what he told me? Milt approached him last week with an offer to buy the farm. Apparently, our esteemed mayor had grand designs of turning the property into a business park or some such nonsense. Now, why would he go and do that with all of those empty storefronts available downtown? And without the approval of the town council, I might add? Of course, Frances told him to get off his land and not come back, but I tell you, Milt's acting very mysterious lately."
Mr. Belden quickly glanced up at his eavesdropping daughter as she pretended to busy herself with sorting the plastic tableware.
"Phil, I'll have to ask you to keep your voice down," he said. "We don't use the word 'mysterious' around here. You don't want Milt to end up behind bars, do you?"
Trixie heard a hearty laugh come from the chair next to her half-serious father's. "Maybe that's where the shyster belongs!" Mr. Lynch bellowed loudly.
As Trixie's sandy eyebrows shot skyward, Honey came up with a second plate of sandwiches - this one for the children. "Uh-oh," she said, placing the dish of peanut butter and jelly triangles on the table. "I recognize that look. Somethings up, isn't it?" she added in an alarmed whisper.
"Maybe," Trixie confessed quietly. "I don't really know, Honey. But from what I gather, Di's Dad thinks Mayor Murdock should go to jail for breaking his election promises."
Honey let out a relieved chuckle. "Is that all?" she said, poo-pooing her friend. "Daddy and Mr. Lynch argue politics all the time. In fact, I overheard Daddy tell Mr. Lynch, just last week, that if Mr. Lynch was so fed up with the current state of affairs, then he should run for mayor himself next term. And do you know what Di's Dad said? He replied that he just might!"
Trixie grinned. Diana's boisterous father would make a magnificent mayor! He was outspoken, very good with money, but most of all, he cared about Sleepyside more than any other place on earth. Besides, he was already an active member of the town council, so it seemed like the next logical step. But as Trixie went on to fill her partner in on the details of the gentlemen's conversation, Honey's dismissive attitude began to disappear.
"Golly, that doesn't sound good," she admitted, shooing a pesky fly away from an open container of tangy pickled eggs. "Poor Mike. And here I thought Mayor Murdock was such a nice man when Daddy introduced the B.W.G.s at his campaign victory party."
"So did I," Trixie replied. "Only I used to think his son Miles was a nice guy too. But ever since his Dad got elected, that creepazoid has gotten real stuck on himself. Why Miles won't even talk to Mart anymore. And the two of them used to pal around and play video games after school all the time."
Honey gave the table a quick once over and then decided they were about ready to call everyone to dinner.
"I have a feeling that has more to do with Mart outshining Miles on the baseball field this summer," she told Trixie quietly. "Last year, Mayor Murdock's son was the Comets lead hitter, don't forget. Besides," she went on to add, "Mart and Miles have also been competing for Di's attention lately. And Di thinks Miles is an absolute dreamboat."
Trixie let out a disapproving cluck. "People thought that about the Titanic too," she mumbled, more to herself than her friend. "Di's been spending too much time at the country club if you ask me."
Honey slapped down the spoon she'd been preparing to place in a crock of baked beans. "Why Trixie Belden!" she scolded. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were jealous!"
"Of Diana Lynch?!" the surly girl responded. "Don't be ridiculous, Honey. After you, she's my next best friend. But we've strayed off point. We're supposed to be talking about Mayor Murdock's odd behavior. Not Di's. And I've got a theory about that, too," she went on.
Honey let out an exasperated sigh, almost afraid to hear what it might be. "Then shoot away," she said with a wave of her hand.
"Well," Trixie began slowly, "I have a hunch Mayor Murdock knows International Pine is preparing to leave town. And I'm beginning to wonder if he's known for quite a while. It might explain why he changed his stance on Mega-Mart, and now plans to open a Burger Bucket and maybe even a business complex?"
"I suppose it's possible," Honey admitted chewing on her lip. "But we shouldn't be talking about this here, Trixie. Mr. Lynch or your father could overhear us. And Daddy was very adamant when he said he wanted us to keep things under wraps."
As Trixie agreed, she caught sight of Mart and Diana coming the pair's way carrying a galvanized washtub filled with ice and topped with ruby slices of refreshing watermelon.
To make room for her brother and his helper, as well as the luscious treat, the curly-haired detective stepped away from the table and went to ring the cast iron dinner bell mounted on the post by the patio.
Immediately drawing a stampede of hungry people, Trixie had to laugh as Jim threw up his hands in surrender as he was pushed on past her by the crowd. The young man, who'd recently been rocketed to superstardom by his fan club, was trapped in the center of the herd of big and little boys.
As Mr. Belden pulled his youngest son into line beside him so the smothered older boy and other guests could move ahead, Bobby said, "Wasn't that the bestest thing ever, Daddy?! When I grow up, I'm gonna be an astronaut and fly to the moon!"
Next to the Beldens, Larry Lynch told his father, "Well, I'm gonna be an astronaut too. Only I'm gonna fly to Mars!" he one-upped his friend.
To which Terry Lynch, not to be outdone by his identical twin and good buddy, cried, "Ah, that's nuthin'. When I grow up, I ain't gonna be an astronaut. I'm gonna own NASA, Pops!"
Bellowing with laughter, Mr. Lynch said to Mr. Belden, "Care to take a guess which one takes after me? " But proudly, he patted both of his sons on their backs. And then, extending his hand to Jim, he offered the teen his congratulations. "That was quite a show you put on today," Phil Lynch told the redheaded boy sincerely. "Have you ever considered a future in Aerospace Engineering, young man? I think you'd be a natural."
Jim, always uncomfortable with a compliment, thanked Mr. Lynch but assured him that he still had his heart set on getting his degree in Education. "Although," Jim did admit, to Trixie's surprise, "I have been doing some pretty heavy thinking about minoring in astrophysics."
"Astrophysics?!" she exclaimed, taking up the end of the line.
Jim cast a grin back at the large-eyed girl as he loaded his plate with a scoop of three-bean salad. "I guess I've got a little bit of that detective blood in me too, Trix," he said. By studying astrophysics, I'd be searching for answers to the mysteries of the universe. Haven't you ever wondered how the cosmos works? How did we get here? And are we alone?"
Of course, Trixie had. Why she couldn't look into the night sky without wondering such things. But what the thoughtful girl had never once considered was that a scientist, in a sense, was a type of detective. And alarmingly, this could only mean one thing. Detectives might also be scientists. It was a sobering thought. Maybe this fall, Trixie would have to pay a little more attention in science class!
A short time later, Trixie grinned as Jim scooted over to make space for her on the picnic blanket beside him. But as she took her seat, the observant young lady glanced down at her male friend's heaping plate and was again taken aback. Like all the boys, Jim liked to eat, so it wasn't surprising that he'd piled it high. But what was unexpected was that there were two gooey peanut butter and jelly sandwiches squeezed in between a handful of chips and a spoonful of vinegar-laced cucumbers.
"Moms' chicken salad too spicy for you?" she asked, pointing at Jim's sweeter choice with the tines of her fork. "Grandma Belden's recipe calls for scads of curry powder and tons of onion. I guess it's a little much for some people."
"Oh no, that's just how I like it," Jim replied happily. "My mom used to make it that way too. But P.B.J.s are my favorite. And they aren't often on the menu at Manor House," he added with a chuckle.
From the other side of Jim came the swat of a napkin. "All you have to do is ask Miss Trask to put peanut butter and jelly on the shopping list," his sister said. "If Cook won't make them for you, I certainly will if you ask nicely enough."
Miss Trask was Honey's former teacher, and at one time, governess. The efficient middle-aged woman now ran manor house for the Wheelers with the help of Bill Regan. Of course, it went without saying that Miss Trask, and Regan, were more like family members than employees. In fact, Honey had even confessed to Trixie once that she was closer to Miss Trask than she was her mother.
But in Trixie's mind, this was understandable. Her friend had been shipped off to boarding school at a very young age. And it had left Honey feeling unwanted by her mother.
It wasn't true. But in her place, Trixie had to wonder if she might not have felt the same. Of course, she couldn't imagine what that would be like. Sure, Moms did occasionally bruise her daughter's feelings a bit without meaning too, but never once had Trixie ever doubted her mother's love. But Honey had. And fortunately, she'd opened up to Miss Trask about it.
For the next thing Honey knew, she was living in a new home in the country, attending public school, and slowly but surely getting to know her mother – and all of this, because a very kind woman had opened her heart to someone who needed her.
"Well, if I'd known it was that easy," Jim told his sister with a grin, I would have asked a long time ago." Picking up one of the oozing wedges, Jim took a big bite and announced, "Boy, these are good," And then, after washing it down with a slug of water, asked, "Is this some of the jam you girls made?"
"Sure is," Trixie replied proudly. "We saved a jar just for tonight, so you should feel honored. Of course, we also put aside a couple for Mrs. Vanderpool. I don't know what we'd have done if she hadn't donated all of those old canning jars she had drawing dust in her shed."
Mrs. Vanderpool was another of Bob-White friends and neighbors. She was a sweet older woman whose family had sailed from Holland many many, years ago and settled the land now known as Sleepy side-On-the-Hudson. Mrs. Vanderpool was a windowed woman of independent means. Though most recently, she'd taken in Spider Webster, the town's chief police officer, and his younger brother Tad, as boarders.
"That was mighty swell of Mrs. Vanderpool, Brian agreed, from next to Honey. "Which reminds me? How are jam sales going, Trix?" Brian was currently acting as club treasurer, and he managed the Bob-White's expenses.
"I'm afraid I really don't know," his sister admitted with a frown. "I guess we'll find out when Honey and I make a run for the Sunday papers tomorrow. Mr. Lytell said he'd pay us weekly for whatever has sold. But I can't imagine it'll be too much. The store's pretty slow this time of year."
Dan Mangan frowned. "That's a shame," he commented from the next blanket over. "Mr. Maypenny said Sleepyside's natural beauty and incredible history used to draw a lot of summer tourists before the interstate by-pass was built. I bet Mr. Lytell's place was packed back in those days."
Brian stood up, preparing to go back for seconds. "Probably so," he said. "Apparently, when Dad was our age, route 99 would get bumper to bumper with cars once school let out. Now it's practically deserted."
Trixie harrumphed and put down her fork. "Maybe that's because, nowadays, nobody can afford their insurance payments." she grouched. "Take us, for example. The Bob-White's haven't gone anywhere or done anything this summer. I mean, what good is a car if you can't go anyplace because you're always too busy working to pay for it? If you ask me, that station wagon is destroying our club! "
As her other friends grew silent, Diana said, "I agree. And I don't know why we don't just let my Daddy pay our bills? He's offered to a gazillion times, you know."
Honey looked appealingly at Jim. Jim and Trixie were co-presidents of the Bob-Whites. "Our father has too," she reminded her brother. "And I don't think Daddy would ever have gifted the Bob-White the station wagon if he'd known it was going to become such a terrible burden. He fully intended to pay for our insurance, gasoline, and even our tags, when he gave it to us."
Jim set down his plate and tried to massage away his building headache. "I know," he admitted seriously. "But we all voted. And we agreed. If we're old enough to own a car, then we're old enough to take responsibility for it."
"But what we didn't know at the time," Dan interjected, "was how much of a 'responsibility' that was going to be. Knowing what we do now, maybe it's best if we sold it. The B.W.G.s got around OK before," he added.
Returning from the buffet to overhear the last of the conversation, Brian said, "I don't think there's a need to rush into anything. By the end of the month, we should have enough saved up to cover our costs for another year. But I hate to say it. Selling the station wagon next fall might not be such a bad idea. Next August, Jim and I are going to be pretty busy getting ready to go off to college, and…."
Trixie threw up her hands to cover her ears. No! She didn't want to hear anymore! Or face the fact that the Bob-Whites were all slowly becoming adults.
The adult world was much too complicated. What with its unethical business practices, shady politics, snooty country clubs, not to mention its skyrocketing cost of living. Why would anyone want all of that? Well, they could just keep it.
"I don't ever want to grow up!" she declared defiantly, cutting her eldest brother off.